


Recompense

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Altisian!Qui-Gon, Clones Confronting Qui-Gon, Clones Not Appreciating Altis, Death by Shrapnel, Gen, Graphic Description of a Corpse in a Morgue, Heavy Angst, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, attachment does not equal love, death and its aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Obi-Wan's death brings Qui-Gon back for the funeral. Jinn's self-righteous comments result in Cody getting angry and speaking his mind.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 37
Kudos: 783





	Recompense

**Author's Note:**

> Courtesy warning for Qui-Gon fans: He's not canon at all in this portrayal, and it went in a very unkind direction.
> 
> Courtesy warning for Altis fans: You will likely never enjoy anything I write. Just so that's out there. But it will be especially thick in this story as the clones in this AU do not respect him whatsoever, and they're very vocal about it.
> 
> Courtesy warning for Skirata Clones fans: Cody doesn't appreciate being made fun of for adoring his general. Or non-commando troopers being referred to as cannon fodder.
> 
> Read things that make your day better, skip the fics that don't.

It had been inevitable, Obi-Wan Kenobi supposed, that his shields would implode as he died.

He lay on the battlefield, and all he could really feel was pain, how cold the ground felt beneath his broken body, and the ringing in his ears from the explosion.

The first sign he received that he had no shields left was discovering Qui-Gon's frantic horror in his mind, though the man was who knew how many planets away, and probably with Anakin.

Who the dying Jedi had barely seen since Obi-Wan knighted him.

And now would never see again.

_“What is happening? Your shields are gone!”_

_“Perhaps... better, that way,”_ Obi-Wan thought back, feeling the steady run of blood leaving his system. _“Can see I'm getting what I deserved.”_

_“Obi-Wan!”_

_“Will you tell Satine she was right?”_

_“Listen to me! Let the medics help you!”_

Obi-Wan realized there was a stillness surrounding him. No frantic bustling. A broken chuckle _hurt. “There is no one. I'm all alone.”_

Terrible sorrow seized Obi-Wan, closing his throat and slipping a tear from his eye.

Qui-Gon was shouting at him, but his brain couldn't operate on so little oxygen.

_I'm alone._

* * *

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's last, painful breaths, felt his light go out.

The agony of the tearing away of the bond left Qui-Gon on his knees, fist clutched to his head.

* * *

Obi-Wan had been in a discussion with the Council when he died.

The holoprojector hadn't been harmed by the blast.

So here Qui-Gon now stood, having returned to the Temple to watch Obi-Wan's final conversation.

The familiar worried furrow between his brows, unknowing as yet that his time was up.

Anakin stood beside Qui-Gon, watching with turmoil spilling off of him into the Force.

Plo stood in the corner in case former master or former Padawan had questions, but Qui-Gon didn't think there would be any.

A demolished vulture droid spun overhead, smashing into the cliff face.

Obi-Wan barely glanced at it, both sensing and seeing it was no threat to him.

The pieces raining down hit a landmine, however.

It was too far away to even rock him with the blast, but the metal it launched cut him down like scythes.

Any sound Obi-Wan might have made was lost in the roar of battle in the background and the explosion itself.

His eyes were open, his body trembling, blood pouring from his wounds.

Tears streamed down Anakin's cheeks.

Qui-Gon couldn't cry. Not yet. Hadn't been able to.

At the last moment, sorrow filled Obi-Wan's eyes, and something glistened. His gaze clouded in death.

Qui-Gon reached out, turning back the holo and zooming in to see Obi-Wan's face. The anguished gasps for air, the shock and _knowledge_ in the face.

And a single tear.

_“There is no one. I'm all alone.”_

The memory of the grieved voice had him backing it up again so he could see once more. As if his brain thought that if he knew intimately what had happened, Obi-Wan would have been less alone.

“ _Stop,_ ” Anakin yelped.

Qui-Gon looked up in surprise.

Obi-Wan's former Padawan was coming apart at the seams, shaking and silently crying, looking at Qui-Gon as if he were some kind of bewildering monster.

_You don't understand. He was_ alive.

This terrible recording was _the last time_ he could see Obi-Wan alive.

But he relented, allowing the image to fall into nothingness.

He turned to Plo, found only compassion there. “I need to see the body.”  
A silent nod, and then the Council member led them to the morgue.

* * *  
  


It was only the coroner now, with Qui-Gon and Anakin in the cold room.

He opened a hatch and rolled out the tray.

A low whimper escaped Anakin.

Qui-Gon merely stepped to the corpse and pulled back the sheet, revealing blue lips and closed eyes.

“Force,” Anakin groaned. “Oh, Force. I should have been with him, I should never have—”

Anakin had been following his conscience, just like Qui-Gon had.

_Obi-Wan was the only one who wasn't._ Even if he'd claimed to. Had looked wounded when Qui-Gon scoffed at his lie.

_“I understand why you are refusing to take a command of clones, Master. I still respect you, though I cannot fathom how you could come to the conclusion you did. Why can't you do the same for me?”  
_Yes. Satine _had_ been right.

Those who engage in violence usually die from it, sooner or later.

_“Getting what I deserved. Will you tell Satine she was right?”_

Qui-Gon yanked the white sheet away further, disgusted by how _tame_ it made this moment. He needed to _see_ the wounds.

“I wouldn't advise—” the coroner warned—

And there they were. The tears inflicted by metal flying with a similar speed as if they had been launched from a slugthrower.

The one in his side was the worst, stretching from hip bone to lower ribs, viscera faintly visible through the gaping gash.

“He bled out fast,” the coroner offered, making no attempt to cover the now-naked body.

Qui-Gon somehow managed to swallow. “I know.”

“Would you like to help me dress him for burial?”

Qui-Gon looked up with a silent nod.

Obi-Wan deserved better than to lie like a specimen on a gleaming silver table under harsh, white light.

Qui-Gon helped slide tunics over unresisting arms. Fastened the latches. Lifted the body to help pants be added. Slipped socks, then boots onto cold feet. Noted the limp softness of a body that had been treated so rigor mortis wouldn't set in.

If it hadn't been for the chill of the skin or the emptiness in the Force, he could have been asleep.

Qui-Gon folded Obi-Wan's hands over the stilled heart, then thought it looked dumb. He replaced the hands to lie by the corpse's sides the way they had been originally.

“Can I have a moment alone with him, please?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Of course.”

The attendant slipped away.

Anakin still hovered.

“ _Please_?” Qui-Gon insisted.

The younger man complied, leaving in silence.

When they were gone, Qui-Gon found himself gathering the body into his arms, sliding to the floor, holding it close to him and rocking as he sobbed into the washed and combed hair.

His Padawan might not have turned out the way he wanted, but he had loved him anyway.

* * *

There were clones at the burial chamber.

That startled Qui-Gon. When he asked Fisto, the man explained that since the entire 212th and 501st couldn't fit into the room, they had chosen representatives to attend, and would be holding their own ceremony later.

Morbid curiosity drove Qui-Gon to attend that second gathering.

He stood in the back, wrapped in his cloak, not really wanting to be seen.

A clone with a scar pattern down his face spoke, his voice unsteady, his words heartfelt. After that, a steady stream of clones moved to the front, each one sharing a small memory of Obi-Wan they found important.

It might have been beautiful, if it hadn't sickened him to the core.

These men had loved him. Trusted him.

_Slaves he led to die in battle killing other beings._

He tried to slip out when it was over, but the scarred clone intercepted him.

“You are Qui-Gon Jinn,” the man asserted.

Qui-Gon gave an uncomfortable nod.

“He was a good man. Your apprentice.”

Qui-Gon managed another nod, somehow.

“He always did what he thought was right,” the clone murmured.

The scoff escaped Qui-Gon before he even had a chance to think about it.

The soldier looked startled. “What?”

“He was a _Jedi,_ a _peacekeeper,_ fighting a _war._ Killing people. He was very out of touch with his conscience in his final two years.”

_“If I don't lead these men, Tarkin will. Have you met Tarkin? His casualty numbers from his previous military career are horrifying. He cares nothing for the lives of his soldiers, and he doesn't even see the clones as_ individuals. _They're even less than the soldiers he used to command— he despises them. They_ are _slaves to him. How can I just walk away and passively_ let that happen _?”_

_“So you would enslave them and order them to die instead?”_ Qui-Gon had retorted at the time. _“How is that better than Tarkin doing it?”_

The soldier's expression shifted to shock. “—Sir?”

“You don't have to call me Sir,” Qui-Gon replied automatically, “I'm not one of the ones who enslaves you.”  
Dark eyes snapped with indignation. “Neither did my General, _Sir._ ”

“He should never have been giving you orders you couldn't reject. I understand why you would idolize him, he was probably better than anything you'd had before, but he was in the _wrong,_ you deserve _better,_ and he should never have been part of something that allowed human beings to be forced onto a battlefield to die. It's against the Jedi way, and it's against any decent being's conscience.”

The indignation gave way to quiet fury. “ _Frip you._ ”

Qui-Gon sent him a startled look.

“Do you have _any idea—_? My brothers on Kamino _died_ if they were too different, or just a little bit too slow, or so much as had an _idea_ of their own. General Ti came to Kamino, and she _stopped it._ She _encouraged_ ideas. She kept the Kaminoans from killing my younger brothers. _General Koon—_ one of my brothers has been _incapable_ of trusting anybody who wasn't one of us, because _things_ had been done to him. _He worships_ the ground his General's feet walk on, and with _good damn reason._ General Fisto nearly _died_ trying to keep his men safe, General Secura found _language lessons_ for Bly, and General Kenobi gave time to pushing the Senators into realizing we were _people._ You think the Jedi shouldn't have _led_ us? Do you know who _was_ before you got here, and who _would_ if the Jedi _left?_ You're so _damn_ self-righteous that you would leave our fates in the hands of people who think we're _disposable cannon fodder,_ but thank _heavens,_ at least _you_ did nothing wrong. General Kenobi _did_ follow his conscience. His conscience refused to leave us with no one to stand between _us_ and the people we _can't fripping hold off,_ and there are countless brothers in the 212th and 501st who would be _dead_ right now if he hadn't been _on that damn battlefield protecting us._ ”

More clones had gathered, expressions hostile towards Qui-Gon.

“You say you're conscientious dissenters to the war for _our sake,_ but you don't even know my name, do you. You wave posters and make speeches and pat yourselves on the backs, but where are you when we're pinned down and being slaughtered? Just shaking your heads and using it as a _fripping statistic_ to back your theories. And it's fine. _Do_ what you do. But don't you _dare,_ don't you _fripping dare_ malign those who faced the same impossible choice that you did, and chose differently, just because you are incapable of understanding why they might. You made my General doubt himself every painful step of this way, and he _died_ in doubt because you refused to just _grant him some fripping respect,_ and believe he _thought_ about his decisions as much as you have, and did what he thought was right, as far as he could see it. _Just_ like you.”

Qui-Gon couldn't quite believe his ears.

“So you go running back to Altis and tell him he can _frip himself,_ and all those dissenting Jedi can just go run off a cliff. The people you claim you're doing all this for? We won't be able to tell the difference with you alive or dead. Funny how _helpful_ you're being for us. You're not doing any of this kark for _us._ You just say that so you can feel good and have people fawn on you.”

“What about respect and benefit of the doubt—?” Qui-Gon asked, near bewildered by the _hate_ he could sense from the clones gathered around him.

A man in a Captain's pauldron with near-shaved blond hair stepped forward. “You come into _our_ gathering just to see what we had to say because you were damn curious, not to stand _with us._ We respect people who've earned it.”

Qui-Gon backed out of the room, feeling beyond uncomfortable.

In the hallway he paused, looked back. “You're wrong,” he said, unable to keep silent when his heart burned. “I _loved_ him, and I respected him too. But I knew he could be _better._ ”

* * *

Cody's hands were shaking.

Waxer's fingers gripped his shoulder, and Rex was still scowling at the now-empty hallway.

“Hey,” soothed Fives. “There's three million vode who know the Altisians are full of shavit.”

True. So very true.

_Windu and Fisto and Koon and Kenobi and Secura and Ti are_ not _the exceptions._

Cody could count on _one hand_ the Jedi who had been anything less than worthy of their clone's worship. Out of ten thousand.

Three of them had been traitors, and the other had been moved to work alone in intelligence, instead of being paired with a battalion because he simply hadn't been good at working with other people. _Any_ other people. Not just clones.

“Easy, brother,” murmured Waxer.

Cody gave him a nod.

In the quiet of the aftermath of his explosion, he was a bit stunned at himself for the outburst.

He knew where it had come from, of course. Having to work with Skirata and his men in a recent mission.

To them, only _commandos_ were people. The regulars were just _not as intelligent_ backup. The little derogatory names, the superior sneers, even aimed for Fives, who'd _earned_ his ARC status?

Force preserve them all from self-righteous bigots.

Their slurs against the Jedi had been worst of all.

Cody had endured it in silence then, because his Jedi had still been alive. He'd endured the mockery they made of him and the rest of the GAR for loving and respecting their Jedi.

Obi-Wan had seen his effort and rewarded him with a quiet, proud smile.

The 212th could be professional in the face of discrimination and assholes.

They did it all the time.

Not usually from people they should have been able to consider “their own,” but...

Well, there were repulsive people in every bunch. Couldn't be avoided.

Cody's shoulders sagged.

The ache in his soul at the loss of their brave, committed General wasn't one he was sure he knew how to bear.

* * *

“My name is Anakin Skywalker.”

The bereaved knight stared down at his hands for a moment, then forced himself to look back up at the suspicious gazes of two battalions of men.

“I was apprenticed to Obi-Wan Kenobi, before the war. I will be leading you now.”

* * *

_“What are you thinking?” Qui-Gon had groaned._

_Anakin stood his ground. “I talked with some of the men.”_

_“So did I,” Qui-Gon had returned in a dry tone Anakin couldn't quite understand._

_“I want to do right by them, the way Obi-Wan did.”_

_“You are not responsible for Obi-Wan's death._ He _is.”_

_“Maybe. But I have to do this. Are you going to disown me the way you did him?”_

_“Anakin—”_

_“Because if you do, I'm sorry, but that's the way it'll be. Rex and Fives... they_ miss him. _Almost as much as I do, I can_ feel _it. I know they only had him two years, but surviving horrible things can bind people together. It's real, Qui-Gon._ They _are real. Obi-Wan loved them enough to die for them. I'm going to fight for them since he can't now. Try to protect them from whatever I can. I can feel this is what I have to do. I can hear the Force in it.”_

_“No, you really can't. This is misplaced guilt—”_

_“You'll know where to find me, Master Qui-Gon. I'm going to protect the men Obi-Wan loved enough that he was willing to endure your rejection for their sake.”_

* * *

And for it, those men loved Anakin Skywalker in return.


End file.
